Mobster Son Bonding
by Twist
Summary: His name is Karkat Vantas. He is six and a half sweeps old. And this is the story of how his Dad taught him to rob a bank. T for language, stabdads AU, roughly follows Vital Statistics.
1. Tengo idea

Mobster Son Bonding

His name is Karkat Vantas. He is six and a half sweeps old. And this is the story of how his (stab)Dad taught him to rob a bank.

-()-

The most pointless thing in the world, ever, without a doubt, Karkat decided, was geology. Honestly, the study of rocks. Rocks from Alternia, rocks from space, rocks from his backyard, it didn't matter at the end of the day. They were hard and you could throw them at people you didn't like. End of thought process.

It didn't help that geology class was the last class of the day, and by 2:15 Karkat's brain typically wandered off onto more interesting topics, or things that had made him angry throughout the day (often these two things coincided). That left 45 minutes of unmitigated suffering at the hands of Worldly Vanguard and his unnatural fixation on anything forged in a volcano.

Not that Karkat minded volcanoes. Only decent thing in geology class, really. Pity they'd covered them briefly in the first quarter, and Vanguard didn't seem to have anything more to say on the topic.

Karkat was beginning to seethe over the fact that it was still only 2:30 and his brain was slowly turning to mica-flecked sludge when Terezi kicked him in the shins. "Fuck you," he hissed, automatically.

"You have plans for tonight?" She waggled her eyebrows in a possible attempt at attractiveness. Why it was successful, Karkat would never be able to explain. Even with her wearing that stupid dragon shirt he had the nascent prickles of flushed feelings swelling up inside him. It was all very confusing, and consequently fairly enraging, and he really wished Terezi _wasn't_ Snowman's adoptive daughter, because then _maybe_ he'd be able to ask Slick about his feelings without sending the man on a rant about how dames are nothing but trouble and any self-respecting person would simply avoid stupid emotional commitments to them.

The irony of Slick's deep-seated and obsessive hatred for Snowman had not escaped Karkat. To his credit, though, Karkat was smart enough not to mention that.

Lacking any witty response, Karkat glowered at his desktop. "No."

"Nothing to do on a wild Friday, hm? _Lame_." She swung her legs back and forth, idly, apparently only half-listening to the teacher. That zig-zag smile slashed across her face, wide and sharp. "If you're home alone we should hang out. I'll tell mom I'm going to the library; Vriska never follows me there."

Karkat snorted. "I don't know if I will be or not. And don't fucking assume I want to hang out with you – I'm still mad at you and your stupid family. Mostly your stupid family, but you by proxy."

"Troll me when you find out." She plucked a red crayon from her box (not that any other color would have even been considered – every crayon in the box was red) and underlined a sentence in her textbook. "I'll be wai-ting," she singsonged, under her breath.

Karkat glared at his desk and pretended like he wasn't even more anxious to get home. It would be as simple as asking about dinner – Slick would probably fly off on some vulgar rant about Karkat feeding himself because adults are fucking busy, and there's twenty dollars under the desk blotter and he'd better fucking see some change. Exit stage right, slam door. Main player: pretend like you weren't all that anxious to troll Terezi anyway, and are doing it out of boredom.

His pencil creaked in his grip. Fucking feelings.

-()-

Twenty blocks away, there was a meeting underway. The Crew had assembled at Slick's place that day, not out of deference to their leader, more due to the fact that Slick's place was where the leftover food from that banquet one of their casinos had catered last week ended up. Even Droog wasn't above the bachelor's inherent gravitation toward free leftovers.

Building plans and a map of the west side of the city were spread out on the table, weighted down by liquor bottles and halves of sandwiches. Photos of a bank's interior were scattered on top, amongst the lettuce shreds and fallen tomato chunks.

"It's so goddamn tiny," Boxcars pointed out, tracing a line from the back door to the vault. "Gotta be the smallest bank in the city."

Droog shook his head. "That's Flute's United on forty-fifth. This is the second-smallest."

Clubs leaned back in his chair and flicked through the pictures. "Gosh, guys, I don't even think we'll need C4. Boxcars should be able to just move stuff."

"The best fucking part of it," Slick said, gesturing wildly with his sandwich and flinging turkey chunks around the kitchen, "is there ain't any guards. They figure you buy a fenestrated wall, for the front door and the back door, you don't need anything else." He paused for a bite of sandwich, which at this point was basically just two pieces of bread clamped together. "Take out the fucking wall, you can stroll in like a walk in the damn park." He prodded the building plans, littering the paper with condiments. "The cable for the wall runs along this beam, with all the other cables and shit. Just lob through all of it, done."

"But for the part where there wouldn't be any power then," Droog pointed out. "And severing the alarm cable will automatically summon the police."

"So will taking out their fucking walls."

Hearts shrugged his massive shoulders. "They could figure on mechanical problems, buy us some time while someone goes to check it out."

"My thoughts exactly." Droog quirked an immaculate eyebrow. "Better yet if the watchman is caught sleeping – assumptions of laziness on the part of the watchman will overrule suspicion that the walls have been tampered with, rather than malfunctioned."

Spades smirked. "Predictable bastards. Sleeping, huh?"

"Dex won't show up on any tests if they investigate afterwards. No way to trace it." Droog produced a bottle of over-the-counter medications from his coat. "Five capsules ought to do it."

"He'll never take all five!" Clubs exclaimed.

"You break the capsules, asshole," Slick snapped. "Put 'em in something – coffee or some shit. Honestly, it's like you've fucking never robbed a bank before."

"Oh. Right. Now I remember."

Hearts leaned onto the table, which creaked in protest. "Droog'n I cased the place all week – best times're between eleven thirty and three. Night watch goes into the viewing room at seven, eats dinner about nine and change, drifts off around eleven. Might not even have to use the juice."

"Better safe than sorry," the second-tallest mumbled.

"Obviously." Slick leaned back in his chair, his hand in his jacket pocket, frowning thoughtfully. "Alright, fuckers, so the strategy –"

Droog held up a hand. "If I may, Slick." He looked to the other two, who hurriedly looked anywhere else, including to the hideous art-class creations Karkat had hopefully taped to the fridge. "It's not a big place."

"Consider that fact fucking established, Droog."

"Right, well, we hardly need all four of us to knock this place over." His expression was rigid, neutral, calm. "In a setting this size, a larger group might even be considered a liability."

Slick thought about that for a moment. "You and I did do Flute United alone. Same shit might work here."

"Perhaps. But Slick, if I may point out, Boxcars might be a better choice in this instance."

"Oh, come on, the safe's not _that_ fucking big and it's the oldest model they can probably still get fucking serviced. It's a damn miracle no one's robbed them yet – a kid could crack it with a fucking stethoscope."

Droog nodded. "Perhaps. But in addition to expediting the process, Boxcars hasn't sustained the same level of injury in the recent past."

There was a pregnant pause, stretching out across the room and through the whole house. Slick leaned forward, elbow propped on the table, pointing at Droog. "This is about the arm. You're fucking making this about the fucking arm thing."

"And the eye thing," Droog agreed mildly. "Although I admit that doesn't warrant the same level of concern."

"Un-fucking-believable, Droog." He scooped up a stack of pictures. "I picked this fucking joint! I planned this entire goddamn heist!" The pictures exploded across the room, around Droog and Boxcars, who simply watched. Clubs, to Slick's right, leaned over in his chair a little, away from the other man. A knife thudded into the blueprints. "You all fucking _work for me_!"

Boxcars nodded gently. "Yeah, Boss, we do, but maybe you wanna sit one out here and there?"

"I'm not _sitting one out_, shit-for-brains, you jackoffs are fucking skipping off without me."

"Slick, don't be dramatic."

"_Fuck you_, Droog, I know this was your goddamn idea."

"You're going to get the same amount of money, Slick, for less work."

Clubs nodded eagerly. "It's a great situation."

"Shut up, Clubs." He whirled out of the chair, and paced around the kitchen, a black slash of jittery rage. "Never mind that it's the most retardedly fucking easy heist we'll have pulled off in months. Never mind that I just, you know, fucking picked the place and planned it all out for you idiots. Never mind that Droog and I could probably manage this alone without either one of you assholes stumbling around behind us."

"_Hey_," Clubs warned, brows creasing.

Diamonds stood up and intercepted Slick, pinning him in the corner of the fridge and the wall. He squared his shoulders and clasped his hands behind his back. "Calm down, Slick."

"_Fuck no_, I won't calm down. My own damn Crew is fucking culling me like the fucking trolls do to their retarded little grub things or whatever."

Droog sighed, as close to exasperated as he ever got. "Spades, your new arm will be here in a few weeks, and then you can rob as many banks as you want, and knife everybody else up."

"It's a wonder you haven't got that fucking Zahhak kid's weird-ass horse-fucking guardian here to drag me out back and fucking _shoot me_ –"

"Slick."

"– which might be more merciful than fucking letting me watch the three of you nooksniffers gallivant off into the fucking sunset with _my _plans –"

"Slick," Droog insisted, while Clubs mouthed 'nooksniffers?' to Boxcars.

" – I mean, why not just fucking retire now and become the goddamn _Godfather_ or something and fucking grant wishes and decapitate hoofbeasts and –"

"_Jack_."

Slick's verbal tirade skidded to a stop, just as the man himself froze mid-stride. His eye narrowed. "What, _Draco_?"

"Don't be a child." He glanced at the mess on the floor and his nose wrinkled, very slightly. "Spend a night with Karkat. And perhaps a mop. Sleep in a bed, don't get shot at, and wake up $100,000 richer. This is hardly something to complain about."

Slick made to cross his arms, but remembered halfway through the gesture and shoved his hand into his pocket. "Well of course when you put it like _that_ . . . And don't tell me how to clean my house, dick."

"I made a suggestion, nothing more." He put a hand on Slick's shoulder, and ignored the shorter man's snarl. "Someone was going to sit this one out, regardless of everything else. The job's too small."

"Usually it would be me," Clubs volunteered happily. "But this time I actually get to drive the car!"

Boxcars sighed, even as Droog shook his head and stepped back, grabbing Clubs under the arm. Spades had simply gone very, very still. "As usual, Clubs, you managed to find precisely the wrong thing to say. Goodnight, Slick. We'll be in touch."

"What? What'd I say? It usually is me that gets left behind on account of Slick saying I'm so fucking usele –"

Boxcars laid a heavy hand on Clubs' head and steered him out of the kitchen. "Shut the hell up, Deuce." He shot Slick an apologetic look over his shoulder. "Sorry, boss."

The throwing knife thudded into the door a half-second after it closed. The sword, scalpel, switchblade and butcher knife that followed likewise scarred the wood up – he'd need a new door, that sword probably went most of the way through – but at least they were fucking palliative.

-()-

In fact, the sword _and_ the butcher knife went the entire way through the front door, a fact which did not escape Karkat's notice when he arrived home from school. He sidled through the narrow crack allowed by the embedded metal, shut the door behind him, and simply absconded upstairs. Some days, that was the easiest answer.

He was about to log onto Trollian and initiate conversation with Terezi – he was pretty sure Slick was around, which ruled out any kind of actual contact with the other troll tonight – when the door to his room slammed open. Fuck.

"Get the fuck into my office, kid."

Karkat turned around, confused. "I didn't _do_ anything. I literally just walked in the front door."

But Slick was already gone, his voice retreating down the stairs. "Why do you always fucking assume you're in trouble? Just get the fuck down here."

- gallowsCalibrator [GC] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] at 1600 –

GC: SO WH4TS TH3 D1ZZ34L K4RKL3S?

GC: 1S TH3 SL1CKST3R OTH3RW1S3 OCCUP4DO?

CG: NO HE'S FUCKING HERE.

CG: I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON – MY ASS HARDLY BRUSHED MY FUCKING CHAIR BEFORE HE'S YELLING FOR ME TO GET THE FUCK INTO HIS OFFICE.

GC: H3 1S SO CH4RM1NG.

GC: W1LL YOU 4BSCOND?

CG: AS IF I COULD – HE'S FUCKING RELENTLESS WHEN HE'S LIKE THIS.

CG: IT'S EASIER TO JUST FACE THE FUCKING MUSIC AND SEE WHAT THE HELL HIS PROBLEM DU JOUR IS.

GC: B3ST OF LUCK K4RKL3S. MY THOUGHTS W1LL B3 W1TH YOU.

GC: 1 W1LL TH1NK ONLY POS1T1V3 TH1NGS.

GC: 4LL TH3 POS1T1V3 TH1NGS.

CG: WHATEVER TEREZI.

- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC] –

When entering Slick's office, it was always prudent to enter slowly, more so since the man's blind spot had increased exponentially a couple months ago. The caution was unnecessary today, though, because Slick was simply sitting at his desk, bent over a pile of papers, his fingers twisted into his hair. "Sit," he snapped, without looking up.

Karkat obliged and reflected – as he sat there in front of the desk of the man who was somewhat reluctantly his guardian and primary caretaker – that while it was usually easy to forget that Slick had once worked at a cush government office job, when you stuck the man behind a desk and threw a bunch of papers in front of him, it was like he'd never done anything else. The suit didn't help matters any, even with the eye patch. Karkat suspected it was something to do with the neurotically alphabetized filing folders and the paperclips. The cigarette smoldering in the ashtray and the half-empty bottle of bourbon did little to offset the picture.

"What?" he asked, after Slick didn't seem about to say anything else. And indeed, the man didn't actually say anything at all in return. He simply shoved a stack of photos across the desk and returned to flicking through the pile of knife-pocked blueprints. "It's a fucking bank," Karkat observed after the first two or three pictures. He brandished the stack. "Is this your next job or something?" A nod.

Karkat craned his neck to see the blueprints. "So when're you gonna knock the place over?"

"Tonight."

Karkat flicked through the pictures again and then shrugged, depositing them on the desk. "Listen, Dad, sorry I like, freaked the fuck out last time but I mean, this is just a bank robbery, you really don't have to tell me because I usually find out when the cops show up."

"You should study those pictures," he growled.

Karkat cocked his head. "_Why_?" Another thought occurred to him, and he glanced around, into the shadows. "Shouldn't you and the Crew be getting ready or something?"

"They are."

Karkat's expression went flat. "You need me to drive you to the fucking bank, don't you."

Slick looked up sharply, shark teeth bared. "Alright, first of all, you little shit, it's not like you would have any other options if I did. And second of all, I need you for more than just a fucking getaway car."

"Huh?"

The gangster sighed and dropped the blueprints back onto the desk, leaning back in his chair. "Karkat, you're six and a half now. You're in goddamn middle school."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious." Although, if he were to be honest, he was amazed the man remembered.

Slick grabbed the bottle of bourbon and looked reflectively at it. "And you know how to drive a fucking car."

"Yeah. So?"

"Well." He took a belt of the liquor and smirked at the troll. "Don't you think it's about time you learned how to rob a bank?"

-()-

MOBSTERS MAKE GREAT PARENTS. :D


	2. Aventura

EL CAPITULO DOS

SUBTITULO: AVENTURA

-()-

"You want me to _rob a bank_?" Karkat's jaw dropped open. He closed his mouth, then opened it again, and then spluttered a little. Slick ignored him. "_I AM SIX_," he concluded, jumping out of his chair and throwing his hands up in the air. "I am six and I have my whole future ahead of me . . . I could be a doctor or a lawyer or a teacher or a scientist or an astronaut or a detective or . . . or whatever the hell I want to be because I'm _six_ and the possibilities are supposed to be fucking endless at this point and _you're_ asking _me_ to _rob a fucking bank_." His hands fell to his sides, and he stared at his guardian, mouth hanging open a little.

Slick looked up, eyebrow raised. "You finished?" Karkat's mouth snapped shut and he glowered. "So you wanna make some fucking money or not?"

"You . . . you'd pay me?"

Slick shrugged. "You help steal it, ain't a reason you shouldn't see some fucking returns."

The shorter troll sat back down and leaned forward onto the desk, hands clasped, eyes narrowed. Slick lit another cigarette. "How much are we talking?"

"No less than thirty percent." He shrugged and tapped the ash off the end. "You earn more, you get more."

He sniffed, and did his best to look shrewd and skeptical. Slick rolled his eye. Karkat frowned. "So is thirty percent a lot?"

"Fuckin' depends on how much we get, doesn't it? You in or not, Karkat?"

He sat back in the chair. Futures shuffled in his head. Doctor, lawyer, astronaut, the glorious futures of Karkat Vantas. He looked to his guardian. "Do I have to wear a suit?"

-()-

It was winter in Midnight City, but not a nice winter night, with snow-blanketed streets and fat flakes falling out of the sky. Just cold and bitter – the streets were deserted, since you'd have to be crazy to be out willingly in weather like this. Even the coppers were pulled over, windows rolled up, tailpipes dumping out white smoke while they idled. Karkat was driving, perched on top of a stack of books, his skinny chest brushing the steering wheel.

Slick was talking, rapid-fire, all alcohol and nicotine and adrenaline. It was the most Karkat had heard the man talk coherently about one thing he wasn't already furious about. He pointed out things that were obvious, but something you'd never notice – that there weren't people out, that the cops were all waiting, that a streetlight was out there, that there was a fire four streets over. It all changed the plan a little – the fire meant there would be distraction, and they might get some extra time. The streetlight meant less surveillance in that patch of street, which would be good for parking a car. The idling cops were bad – an idle copper is a bored copper, and they'll poke their noses around where they shouldn't. No people was good – less people meant less witnesses which meant less bodies.

"I don't have to kill anyone, do I?"

Slick started to say something before the sneer faltered and he paused. "Not if you fucking listen," he concluded.

Karkat nodded. "Is that it?" They were in a commercial district, and the marble pillars were reminiscent of the pictures Karkat had studied for the past eight hours. Slick nodded.

"So go around the back, like I said." He snorted, derisive. "Fucking parking garage owner has fake cameras installed. Ground floor, next to the elevators." The car stopped between the white lines, lights off. Karkat back and suddenly he realized his knuckles were white around the wheel and his heart was racing. His jacket – which Slick had insisted he wear, although the more formal attire seemed to be a decision handed down from Droog, since Slick had just let him wear the coat over his t-shirt – was too hot, the air in the car was oppressive.

"_Karkat._" He looked over, wide-eyed. "Turn the fucking car off." He killed the engine, his hand shaking the whole way. He couldn't have hidden it if he'd tried.

"Dad, I –"

"It's normal." Slick pulled his horse hitcher from the back seat and tucked the Ace into his jacket pocket. He let the glove box drop open and pulled a few more cards out. "You bring anything?"

"Yeah. My sickle."

"Fucking useless." He handed Karkat the Seven card. "Alright, kid, listen. Not to put any fucking pressure on you or anything, but we're operating on a time frame here."

"Huh?" His voice squeaked and he hastily cleared his throat.

"Reason being, Droog and his two new best fucking friends are gonna get here, probably around one."

"_What_?" Karkat shook his head. "Why the hell don't you just wait for them?"

Slick kicked the door open. "It's fucking complicated."

"I wanna know!" He hopped out of the car, slammed the door shut, and fell in next to his guardian, hands in his pockets to keep them from trembling. "That's your fucking Crew, why're you guys splitting up? Mnurf." Slick had clapped a black-gloved hand over his mouth and pushed his back against the freezing concrete wall of the parking garage.

"First fucking rule, Karkat, is after we get out of the car, you shut the fuck up. Got it?" Karkat nodded. Slick moved his hand away, but he didn't straighten yet, just watched Karkat's face for a second. The he stood up, hand back in his pocket. "You listen to me, you don't have to be nervous, alright? This shit's easy." He cocked his head toward the bank. "Run through there, grab everything, by the time the three stooges show up the fuzz'll be all the fuck over the place, alright?"

Karkat nodded.

"Alright, hardest part's the first." He stalked off across the parking garage, Karkat swept along in his wake. Even though the garage was open-air, the cold wind cut through him and took his breath away when they stepped out of the stairwell. The bank lay across a short expanse of cracked pavement, a singular light burning out from the viewing room's window on the ground floor. Slick stuck to the shadows as he made his way over to the window, Karkat sticking tight to his heels. Karkat felt distinctly like they should be creeping along, sidling or something, like in Egbert's stupid _Mission Impossible_ movies, but Slick was just walking, same as he did every day. Karkat straightened his shoulders and tried to assume a posture of nonchalance.

He was so busy being nonchalant that he walked straight into Slick when he stopped by the viewing room window. The man spun around, eye narrowed, and then swore and mumbled something about 'amateur hour' before dropping into a crouch under the window. "Ready?"

Karkat's instincts screamed 'no', so naturally he nodded. Slick had wrestled a bottle of capsules from his jacket. "Five?" Karkat confirmed. Slick nodded.

"You have your damn radio?" Karkat nodded again. "Alright, you tell me as soon as you're done and then get the fuck out of there." They slid along the wall, under the window, to the staff entrance. It was locked, but Slick made short work of it. The deadbolt ground back, slowly, but Slick let the door stay shut for the moment. Karkat settled down behind the overgrown bush that hemmed the right side of the stairs.

And then Slick stalked off around the corner of the bank, and Karkat was alone. This was it. This was robbing a bank.

Through the panic and the adrenalin, Karkat reflected that he had always imagined it wouldn't be nearly as cold and there would have been significantly less bushes involved.

From the angle he was at, he could see the guard in the viewing room, leaned back in his chair, half-asleep, tired eyes fixed on the screens. Any minute now, Slick would get his attention out front, somehow – Karkat hadn't pressed him on that – and ideally the guard would leave to investigate.

Any minute now, Karkat assured himself, as his heart tried gamely to pound a hole through his chest wall.

Any minu – Oh thank _God_ he was moving. Karkat saw the first stone glance off the front of the bank in the screen, and evidently the guard did too. By the time the second stone struck, he was out of his chair and off into the depths of the bank, flashlight beam slicing a dusty path through the dark. Karkat took a breath and moved.

The door swung open on well-oiled hinges. There was the back Wall, in the corridor leading to the bank, not the one leading to the viewing room. After all, why would there need to be one there? The money was in the vault, not the viewing room.

Karkat had been mildly amused by this obviously retarded train of thought when Slick had explained it to him earlier, but now he was too nervous to think much about anything but the task at hand. His sneakers scuffed on the linoleum, he was going to leave footprints, what if he couldn't get the pill bottle open . . .

The coffee was mostly full, abandoned on the desk. He fumbled the pill bottle out of his pocket and managed to open it with shaking hands. The capsules cracked open easily, and he emptied their contents into the styrofoam cup. He pulled on his gloves and picked the cup up, swirling it cautiously. Then he set it back down, achingly careful not to spill any, and darted back out of the room, into the night, closing the door softly. The bush rustled as he settled back behind it, and he clicked the radio on. "Okay."

There wasn't a response, and for a minute he wondered if that was supposed to happen. Had the guard called for backup or something? What if Slick had got pinched – it wouldn't have been the first time, and it's not like they'd even done anything yet, so he'd get off pretty easily, but still, how long was Karkat supposed to wait?

It felt like he waited an eternity. The bush scratched at his skin, the cold bit at his fingers and his breath rose in a misty cloud in front of him. His horns tingled, although he wasn't sure if that was his imagination. A frigid breeze ruffled his hair.

And then Slick came around the corner, like nothing had happened. Karkat breathed a sigh of relief, sagging into the twigs and leaves. He glanced to the window, confirming that the guard had likewise returned. In the room, the guard peered closer at the Walls, then shrugged, took a sip of coffee, and sat down. Slick leaned against the wall next to Karkat, a little more out of the wind.

The sip wouldn't have been enough to knock the guy out. It would have been enough to make him tired, which would prompt him to take a deeper drink of the coffee, and the cycle would go on. He wouldn't remember any of it when he came around.

He'd gotten another cup of coffee by the time the drugs kicked in and his system gave up the ghost. He keeled over across the desk, shoulders heaving as he snored. Slick nodded. "Move."

It shouldn't have been that easy, Karkat thought, as they walked into the bank. One guy? The Walls must be a lot harder to crack than Slick expected, otherwise why else would security be so lax? But Slick just shoved his hand into the space behind the Wall and the actual wall and fished around for a minute. Then the picture of the sleeping guard flickered and died.

"Are you fucking serious?" Karkat asked. Slick shrugged. "This is a fucking embarrassment," he hissed to the man as they made their way through the bank. "Who the fuck keeps their money here?"

"Fucking idiots and graveyard stuffers," Slick answered. "And The Dunes."

"The _casino_?"

"Gotta keep it somewhere kid. Now shut up." The lobby of the bank lay ahead, the giant fenestrated wall hanging from the ceiling, glaring down on the marble floor. The guard's snoring echoed through the building.

Karkat blinked up at it. "So what do we do about that?" he whispered.

Slick tapped the wall behind them and they both looked up to the vent over their heads. "Cables're up there."

It was then that both realized that the vent was seven feet in the air, and neither of them was anywhere near tall enough. Slick glared up at the vent, like it had offended him. "Get a fucking chair."

The only chair Karkat could get his hands on without stepping into the Wall's line was one of the stupid spinny chairs, the kind that rotated and had the hydraulics to boost it up. He grabbed it, dragging it behind him with a minimum of rattling, back to where Slick was waiting below the vent. He put it at its highest setting and stabilized it while his guardian clambered up and snagged the vent cover.

"Fucking unstable piece of shit."

"Sorry." He watched Slick haul himself up to the vent one-handed and then work what was left of his right arm into the space, wedging his skinny shoulders in the opening. The tip of his shoe caught the wainscoting and he braced himself against that. Karkat waited, still nervous but much less so, until there was a crackle of electricity and a whiff of smoke. The Wall blinked off.

Slick slid back down and Karkat handed the vent cover back up to him, not a trace of their incursion visible. "Embarrassing," he repeated, as he dragged the chair back to where he'd found it.

"We don't have the fucking money yet, Karkat." They ducked behind the counter and wove through the desks to the door to the vault. Karkat inhaled sharply when the black door loomed ahead, shiny and solid in the dark. Behind them, the dark expanse of the Wall buzzed.

Slick ran his hand down the face of the vault, fingers lingering on the dial. He jiggled the handle, and then frowned. "It's a fucking Feynman. God damnit."

"What's that mean?"

Slick turned on him. "Remember your fifth birthday?"

Karkat's mind scrambled, his head cocked. "The fuck . . .?" But there was that politely expectant look that suggested you were ten seconds or less away from getting your throat cut, and he coughed. "The year you gave me a fucking hotel safe and no combination?"

"Good." Karkat suddenly found his hand full of stethoscope. Slick strolled off, slouching back into one of the teller's chairs. "Fucking hurry it along."

"You are shitting me." He snapped the stethoscope into his ears and shot Slick a death glare, but the man seemed otherwise occupied with the stamps behind the counter. "This is stupid."

Well, he was robbing a bank. Safe-cracking was probably inferred in that job description. He held the stethoscope against the vault's face and spun the dial all the way around, experimentally, waiting for the click. It wasn't that it never came – it was that it came twice. He looked to Slick, wide-eyed. "It's not like the hotel safe."

"Fucking Feynmans." Slick got back up and stood behind Karkat, ear pressed to the safe. "Spin it." Click, click. "Ah, shit. Alright. Slow." Karkat spun the dial, stethoscope pressed hard against the door, the wheel turning by millimeters. "Stop." He glanced up.

"Forty-seven. What was the difference?"

"You can feel the tumbler hit." Karkat shifted the stethoscope up, so his hand was resting next to the dial. He spun it the other way, past 47, and then slowly around the rest of the dial. "Stop," Slick said, and this time Karkat thought he felt the little tic under the dial.

"Thirty." He spun again, and this time he was looking up before Slick said anything. "Twenty-two." He stood back, pulled the stethoscope down, and hesitantly reached for the dial.

"The fuck are you worried about? _Go_."

He spun the combination, probably overcautious, but there was a very definite _clank_ when he hit the twenty-two and Slick yanked the handle. The vault swung open. "Holy shit."

It was organized, not like in the movies where there were just bags of money sitting around. Slick went straight for one cash locker, picking the lock on it and hauling out bag after bag of cash. "Holy shit, Dad."

"Fucking _move it_, Karkat."

The troll – six and a half years old, with his whole life ahead of him – blinked. "_Holy shit_."

Slick let his head loll back, money over his shoulder. "That thirty percent is what you fucking make of it, kid."

Karkat jumped then, hauling money out of the locker Slick had opened, hoisting the safe deposit drawers open, stuffing wads upon wads of bills into the bags they already had out. They left the jewelry and the documents – too hard to get rid of, and stupid when there was this much loose cash sitting around – and piled everything else up in the middle of the room. Karkat grabbed a trashcan – the kind with wheels – and upended it in the vault. They filled it to the top with the money then and walked out of the vault, Karkat pushing the trashcan and Slick meandering ahead.

And just like that, Karkat Vantas was a bankrobber.

Slick helped him pull the garbage can down the stairs out back, and they pushed it across the empty space to the parking garage. His guardian popped the trunk to the car and he and Karkat slung the cash into the back. By the time Karkat finished taking the trashcan back to the corridor and shutting the back door to the bank, Slick was in the car. "Drive. Calm."

They'd gone ten blocks before Karkat's hands finally stopped shaking. Slick had the window cracked, cigarette ash dropping to the pavement. "Where . . ." he started, but his voice cracked and broke. He took a breath, swallowed and tried again. "Where are we going?"

"Home."

"_Home_? What about all the money? If the cops come by –"

"Kid, that robbery was fucking clean." He sniffed and leaned back in the seat. "They'll be looking, sure, but they ain't gonna get a damn warrant off that." He flicked the cigarette butt out the window. "I'm fucking astonished how smoothly shit goes when people fucking _listen to me_."

Karkat smiled a little. "Yeah?" He sat a little taller on the stack of books. "Fuck yeah."

"Language, kid." He rolled his eyes as the car trundled along the main drag, casino lights blaring even at this hour. He looked over when Karkat started laughed. "What?"

He shouldn't say anything, but between the giddiness left in the wake of being wound so tight all night, and the exhaustion that was rapidly creeping in at the corners of his brain, he threw caution to the wind. What the hell, he just robbed a fucking bank. "Well, this afternoon at school I was talking to Terezi about what I was doing tonight and she thought I was all lame." He snickered. "Stupid."

Slick was watching him now though, calculating, and he faltered. "Terezi as in Snowman's Terezi?"

"Uh, hng. Yes." He shrugged it off. "We sit next to each other in geology."

"Hm." Slick pulled the Ace of Spades out and flipped the card idly between his fingers, leaned back in the seat. "Terezi as in gallowsCalibrator, yeah?"

"_What_?" It was all Karkat could do not to slam on the brakes. "You looked at my fucking computer!"

"Technically it's _my_ fucking computer, Karkat. And you left that stupid program open, whatever it's called." Karkat sputtered, rage building up to near-critical levels. It took a minute to register that Slick was laughing at him. "Relax, kid."

"That is a flagrant invasion of my privacy!"

"I'm your fucking guardian; I'm allowed." He shrugged. "You like her?"

"This is also a flagrant invasion of my privacy!" Slick was snickering. "So what if I do? Just because you hate her mom doesn't mean you can tell me what to do and _read all my fucking conversations_!"

Slick trailed off into silence, still smirking, hand over his eyes. "She's the one with the fucking terrible dragon shirts?"

"She likes them."

"Hng." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "They are pretty fucking terrible."

"Yeah. Her mom buys them for her."

That got his attention. "Yeah? Huh." He flicked the Ace into the glove box. "Fucking bitch."

Karkat sagged. "Can we not talk about this right now?" Slick shrugged again. They'd left the lights of the casinos behind now, and Karkat was steering through the outlying residential streets, weaving his way home. "So what do we do with all this money when we get home?" He looked to Slick, who was busy lighting another cigarette. "Do we get to count it? That would be so cool."

Spades shook the match out and dropped it out the window. "How else d'you think we're gonna figure out your forty percent?"

Karkat turned the car and shifted it into reverse, hitting the accelerator so it could make the bump up onto the sidewalk. He backed it up to the front door, shifted back to neutral, pulled the brake and killed the engine, flat-toothed grin gleaming in the streetlights. "Awesome."

-()-

Around two that night, the Midnight Crew's auxiliary black van rounded the corner by the bank and was immediately bathed in blue and red flashing lights. Clubs hit the brakes, expression more confused than usual. "Huh?"

"Someone tipped the cops off," Hearts snarled. "Drive, Clubs." Just as he barked the order, a detective in a long brown coat strolled up to the car and knocked on the driver's window. Droog, in the back with the supplies, leaned up between the front seats.

"A minute of your time, gentlemen." The cop snapped his gum and gestured to the bank with his flashlight. "Street's closed. You all know anything about what's going on here?"

Droog raised his eyebrows, expression mild. "No, officer."

The cop looked skeptical. "Yeah, okay. So you all were just driving around, don't know anything about the robbery here earlier?"

Even Droog looked surprised at that. "You mean someone already robbed it?" Boxcars stuttered.

The detective rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Hearts, someone _already_ got to it tonight. Hate to get in the way of your plans." He peered into the van. "Where's Slick got to?"

Clubs grinned broadly. "He took the night off." Boxcars thumped him.

"Alright, whatever." The detective pushed his hat back and ran his fingers through his hair. "So you all weren't in on this?"

"Of course not, officer," Droog said, and the way he managed to be so affronted by the question would have made one think he was angling for an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor. "We were trying to drive over to Nero's."

But the detective was already walking away, back to his black and white car. "Have a good night, gentlemen." Clubs rolled the window up and put the van in reverse.

"So what now?" Boxcars ventured, cautiously, because as soon as the detective had left Droog's expression had gone distant, cold, and very angry.

"Get me to a phone, Deuce. Now."

In the townhouse, half a city away, Slick answered on the third ring. Karkat, cross-legged on the floor in the middle of a money fort, looked up curiously. "What?" There was shouting on the other end of the phone, too loud to be intelligible. "Sorry Droog, you're gonna have to slow the fuck down."

"Someone already robbed the joint!"

"Hm?" Slick leaned back in his chair and pulled his hat off, tossing it on top of the piano. "Which joint?"

"_Goddammit, Slick_!"

"Oh, you mean that bank you all were gonna rob? Huh. Damn shame, considering all the work you – well, me, really – put into that." There was something else, and Slick just shook his head. "No, no idea who it might have been."

"You're a fucking liar, Jack!"

"Droog?" Slick clamped the phone between his jaw and his shoulder, and riffled through a wad of bills, right by the receiver. "Sorry, Droog, I have to hang the fuck up; I can't hear you over the enormous sum of money I'm counting." Karkat could hear Droog shouting through the phone, even as Slick dropped the receiver back into the holster.

"He mad?"

Spades smiled serenely – it was the happiest Karkat had seen him look since his run-in with Snowman a few months ago. "Fucking furious."

-()-

THE END LOL.


End file.
